


Bang Bang (my dumb heart beats for you)

by henriqua



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Consensual Underage Sex, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Post-Welcome to the Madness, Welcome to the Madness (Yuri!!! on Ice)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:09:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27262501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/henriqua/pseuds/henriqua
Summary: When Otabek helps Yuri back on his feet and Yuri pulls him into a bow and then hugs him, laughing while the crowded arena around them cheers, Otabek wants to kiss him.It’s not the first time in the past 48 hours Otabek has thought of that.
Relationships: Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 12
Kudos: 153
Collections: Otayuri Week 2020





	Bang Bang (my dumb heart beats for you)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Otayuri Week 2020 Day 5: Tropes. The tropes I chose were first kiss and first time. And I suppose Welcome to the Madness can be considered as a trope in the fandom...? Anyway, I already know half of the fandom is gonna disown me for writing this, and I'm sorry.

When Otabek helps Yuri back on his feet and Yuri pulls him into a bow and then hugs him, laughing while the crowded arena around them cheers, Otabek wants to kiss him.  
  
It’s not the first time in the past 48 hours Otabek has thought of that.  
  
Yuri is like a hurricane: unpredictable but determined, destructive whenever he steps on the ice, and Otabek feels like he’s standing in the eye of that storm. The very first time Otabek saw those emerald eyes it was like being put under a spell, the unwavering gaze of a soldier haunting him for years.  
  
Otabek thought pulling Yuri aside and talking with him would be enough to give him peace of mind, even if Yuri wouldn’t agree to become friends with him. But he agreed, shaking his hand with a soft smile on his lips, and when they sat down in that cozy little café after strolling around the city, Otabek simply knew he could never get Yuri out of his head even if he tried.  
  
It was later that night when they parted ways in the hotel lobby that Otabek caught himself thinking how he’d like to kiss Yuri. The thought felt like a kick in his stomach because he knew he shouldn’t be thinking about such things: Yuri probably didn’t even care he existed until a few hours ago, Otabek couldn’t say they really knew each other (although being with Yuri, talking about mundane things while touring Barcelona’s most famous tourist attractions had been so easy it made Otabek’s heart ache), and on top of everything, Yuri was younger than him. In the big picture three years wasn’t a lot, but Otabek had just turned eighteen and he’s supposed to act and think like an adult.  
  
Otabek really, _really_ tried to focus on the competition instead of his thoughts of Yuri because it’s the Grand Prix Final and he had fought tooth and nail to get there, but it’s hard when Yuri got on the ice looking like an angel and broke the world record. It was _really_ damn hard when Yuri cheered for him and he cheered for Yuri, watching him skate to gold.  
  
They met in the dressing rooms before the medal ceremony and he pulled Yuri into a hug, giving him a smile when he angrily said he’s tired of seeing JJ getting overscored in every single competition. Otabek told Yuri it’s alright, that he’s going to work harder in the next competition, and thought how he wanted to kiss him; maybe it would make him forget how frustrated he truly felt.  
  
But that wouldn’t be appropriate, and Otabek knew that, so instead he sneaked out and hit a club his friend played at, only mildly surprised when after an hour or so Yuri appeared on the dance floor. Otabek had no idea how Yuri had found out his location and gotten into the club. It’s very likely the bouncers weren’t doing their job, he managed to steal someone’s ID or he simply broke in through a bathroom window - everything was possible when it’s Yuri Plisetsky they’re talking about.  
  
Yuri met eyes with him and smirked, challenge written in his features, and it was easy for Otabek to accept that challenge. The song he chose to play just for Yuri hadn’t even reached its final notes when the younger skater had climbed his way into the DJ booth, telling him he wanted to use the song for his exhibition skate the following day.  
  
Otabek didn’t even get a chance to tell his friend goodbye, not protesting when Yuri dragged him out of the club. He hadn’t had a single drink but he felt drunk, the hold of Yuri’s cold fingers around his wrist kicking his every nerve-ending into overdrive. His head was buzzing and it didn’t clear out until they sat down on the beach near their hotel, the slow waves creating a steady background noise for their conversation. Yuri asked for his opinion about changing his exhibition program now, 12 hours before the event, wanting his _advice_ , and Otabek had never felt so honored and exhilarated at the same time.  
  
They somehow got into the practice rink in the middle of the night: Yuri batted his eyelashes to the night guards, telling them he had just won the competition and how it was absolutely crucial for him to have some ice time _now_ , and they couldn’t say no to him. Otabek didn’t blame them - it’s goddamn hard to deny something from Yuri Plisetsky.  
  
Otabek leaned against the rinkside, the volume of his phone turned up, the song he had chosen for Yuri echoing in the empty hall as Yuri skated through ideas for his exhibition performance. For a long time they said nothing, Yuri’s skating making it impossible for Otabek to look away. He was mesmerized, the way Yuri moved and created a powerful and ambitious program out of thin air freezing him on the spot. He was impressed, of course he was, but more than anything he was hungry to see more of that blunt, rebellious Yuri.  
  
Otabek paused the music when Yuri skated to him, reached for his water bottle and took a drink.  
  
”It’s lacking something,” he said, eyebrows in a deep frown as he put the bottle down. Otabek said nothing because although he didn’t think the program was lacking in any way, he also knew he didn’t have the same kind of artistic eye for choreography that Yuri had.   
  
It took a few seconds for Yuri’s face to brighten up again. ”Get on this side.”  
  
”What?”  
  
”I have an idea, c’mon.”  
  
Otabek didn’t have his skates with him because they were supposed to work on Yuri’s program, not his (and he didn’t even have anything new prepared for the exhibition, so there was nothing for him to practice). He got on the ice and shuffled to where Yuri was, feeling awkward and unbalanced with his shoes on. Yuri tried to hide an amused smirk, failing miserably, and Otabek narrowed his eyes at him.  
  
”Don’t laugh at me.”  
  
”I’m not laughing at you,” he denied quickly, a smile still on his lips. He pulled a pair of gloves out of the pocket of his jacket - the ones he bought earlier when they went shopping together - and put them on. ”I want you to take these off for me.”  
  
”During your skate?”  
  
”Yeah,” Yuri said, gesturing at the rinkside wall. ”You could, maybe, lean against that? And I’ll take my jacket off earlier, right? And then the sunglasses, too… and then I could come here and you’d pull these off one at a time.”  
  
Yuri was about to turn his exhibition program into a classical lose-your-clothes-while-skating - program - for some reason, every exhibition always had at least one of those - and although rationally thinking Otabek knew he shouldn’t support the idea, he couldn’t help thinking how it would work perfectly since Yuri wanted to tell the world he’s so much more than just an angel-faced ballerina.  
  
“Okay,” Otabek heard himself say, delight spreading on Yuri’s face.  
  
He took his place at the rinkside wall, supporting himself against it while trying to keep his shoes from slipping on the ice. Yuri skated to him, stopped at an arm’s length away, and held his hand out for him. It almost mirrored the moment Otabek asked to shake hands with him earlier in Park Güell and Otabek would have found it poetic if it wasn’t two in the morning and Yuri wasn’t asking him for help with undressing himself.  
  
The gloves were a bit too big for Yuri to begin with, and Otabek slid the first one off his hand easily. Yuri offered him his other hand and Otabek repeated his actions, holding Yuri’s gloves as a disapproving frown appeared on the blond’s face.  
  
“It works, but not like I want it to,” he said, taking his gloves and pulling them back on when Otabek gave them to him. Otabek could almost hear the gears turning inside Yuri’s head as he thought, but after a while he was still staying silent.  
  
“The music’s unexpected, so maybe this part should be, too,” Otabek offered. He might not have been a choreography genius, but he had worked on many different programs throughout his career: he knew the best results always came from trying out different ideas without turning anything down.  
  
“True,” Yuri agreed. “Maybe take the first one off normally, and then let’s think of something different with the other one.”  
  
“Different? In what way?”  
  
“You could, maybe, bite it off or something.”  
  
Yuri was mostly joking, but Otabek was more concerned than anything. “That could go very wrong. I suppose you want to keep all your fingers to yourself, right?”  
  
Yuri kept laughing and Otabek couldn’t keep himself from smiling, either. The laughter bubbling out of Yuri sounded like sunlight, wiping every trace of drowsiness out of Otabek and reminding him that they were _friends_ ; that he had made friends with Yuri Plisetsky, who was now laughing with him and asking him to pull his glove off his hand with his teeth.  
  
Otabek was probably mildly delirious because he told Yuri they should at least try it.  
  
Yuri reached towards him with his hand once again, and Otabek pulled the glove off with his own hand. Yuri’s eyes were shining with something absolutely wild when he shifted and offered his other hand to him. It was very uncharacteristic for Otabek to throw all his cautions away and lean in, even if he was just humoring Yuri. His heart was beating loudly, it pounding against his ribs the only sound Otabek could even hear when he opened his mouth for Yuri’s hand and bit gently down around the fabric of his glove. The tip of Yuri’s finger grazed lightly against the roof of his mouth and then they were both pulling away, Yuri’s glove safely secured between Otabek’s teeth.  
  
They were silent for a second that felt like a lifetime. Otabek’s senses rushed back to him: the hum of the fluorescent lights above them was deafening, his skin was tingling and he was hot all over although he had done nothing but stood there on his feet. He took the glove out of his mouth and slowly gave it back to its rightful owner, Yuri avoiding his gaze with a dark pink blush dusted across his face.  
  
“I think I should come up with something else for this part,” he said after clearing his throat and Otabek couldn’t agree more wholeheartedly, grateful that the loose fit of his sweatpants hid what kind of effect Yuri’s previous idea had had on him.  
  
+  
  
On the morning of the exhibition, Yuri sneaked into Otabek’s hotel room with an eyeshadow palette he had - according to his own words - borrowed from someone (probably Mila, because even Yuri didn’t have the courage to dig through Lilia’s bags without her permission). They Facetimed Otabek’s slightly confused twin sister for makeup tips, and for some reason Otabek wasn’t that surprised to see how skilled Yuri was with the makeup brush. They told Otabek’s sister to look forward to the gala live stream, and after they dropped the call she messaged Otabek not to do something he’d regret later.  
  
That wasn’t Otabek’s plan until Yuuri Katsuki brought his coach on the ice with him and pissed Yuri majestically off.  
  
In Otabek’s honest opinion, Katsuki and Nikiforov’s pair skate was beautiful; overly romantic and borderline cheesy, yes, but also unexpected in a good way. Viktor Nikiforov was the living legend of figure skating, and the audience had definitely missed seeing him on the ice, thunderous applause filling the arena around them.  
  
“I guess your surprises overlapped…,” Otabek mused, standing on the rinkside with Yuri, waiting to see his brand-new program from the best seat possible. Yuri was cursing under his breath, frustration taking over his features. It took him a moment to calm down and tear his eyes away from the couple confessing their love to each other on the ice, his hand reaching for the sleeve of Otabek’s jacket.  
  
“Otabek, my friend,” he started, his voice deep and unwavering, the sound sending an involuntary chill of excitement down Otabek’s back. “I want you to be in my exhibition. We could be even more intense than them.”  
  
“But I’m already done performing,” Otabek said, his mind planning ahead nevertheless. His skates weren’t far away, and his muscles were still warm from his own performance. He had his team jersey on but changing into his leather jacket would probably take him less than five seconds.  
  
Yuri didn’t accept his weak excuse, reaching for the front of his shirt and pulling him so close he could feel Yuri’s next words on his skin. “You’re gonna watch me lay everyone flat out, right? Just do it like we did last night, how does that sound? Are you in, or are you out?”  
  
It was a lot of questions at once, but the thrill of Yuri’s playful little smirk indicated he knew exactly what Otabek was thinking. “We’re friends, aren’t we? Then there’s only one answer.”  
  
+  
  
Yuri’s exhibition skate makes social media explode. Otabek is reading through tweets and blog posts his siblings keep sending him, his glass of expensive champagne served at the banquet forgotten on the table. On the other side of the table Yuri has finished his non-alcoholic drink (Otabek let him take a sip from his glass, the disgusted face he made at the taste pulling a chuckle out of Otabek) and is scrolling on his own phone. Every now and then he leans in to show something to Otabek, and whenever he does that, Otabek’s breath gets stuck in his throat.  
  
He reaches for his glass when the thought of kissing Yuri passes through his head again.  
  
Honestly, Otabek doesn’t remember much of the whole gala, as if standing on the edge of the ice and pulling Yuri’s gloves off for him had wiped his mind clean. If he really concentrates he can recall the intense look in Yuri’s eyes when he skated to him, blaring guitars and heavy bass echoing in their bones; there was the warmth radiating off Yuri’s body when he stopped right in front of him, and there was the light touch of his fingertip against the roof of his mouth that made Otabek shiver. In the end Otabek metaphorically shot Yuri down, almost like claiming him, and his Twitter mentions are flooded with gifs of his apparently infamous finger gun.  
  
His sister’s earlier text message haunts him when he places his half-empty champagne glass down and steals a glance of Yuri. He has pocketed his phone and is leaning his chin on his hand, looking around the party in disinterest. It’s not exactly late yet, but some of the skaters are already halfway drunk, the volume of their conversations rising. Most of them wanted to take pictures with Yuri and Otabek when they arrived at the party, and after posing in a dozen photographs they fled the crowd and got seated at a table for two in the corner of the room.  
  
“Penny for your thoughts,” Otabek says and Yuri’s eyes shift to him. He still has remains of his gala performance makeup lining his eyes, hair pulled back into a loose half-up. There’s something dark in his gaze that makes the back of Otabek’s neck hot, and he licks his lips briefly before replying.  
  
“Do you want me to be honest or polite?”  
  
“Honest,” Otabek says. They might not have known each other for long, but they’re already past the first few stages of friendship: Otabek has played Yuri his music, and Yuri has had his hand in Otabek’s mouth, after all. He appreciates the question, anyway, since most of the time Yuri is honest with his words without seeing the need to be polite.  
  
“I want to suck your dick, kinda.”  
  
For a moment Otabek is convinced he misheard Yuri’s words. He manages to keep his face somewhat expressionless, only his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Yuri shrugs and looks away, and the room is too dim for Otabek to see if he is really blushing, or is it just an illusion.  
  
“Or if you’re not into that we could watch a movie or some shit, I just want to get out of h-”  
  
Otabek grabs Yuri by his wrist before he reaches the end of his sentence, effectively cutting him off. “Let’s go.”  
  
They leave the banquet without anyone noticing, and Otabek doesn’t let go of Yuri’s wrist until they step into an elevator and the doors slide shut. It feels like his heart tries to beat out of his chest, and although his mind is jumbled he still looks for Yuri’s gaze after the elevator starts moving towards the floor his room is located in.  
  
There’s _something_ in Yuri’s eyes that has haunted Otabek for years, something wild, strong, and determined that sends an involuntary shiver down his back. Now he knows Yuri is all of those things, but that he also uses them to cover his vulnerabilities and insecurities, and Otabek is itching to see everything that’s hiding behind Yuri’s seemingly unwavering facade. He’s caught glimpses of it in the past few days, but only on Yuri’s own accord. Otabek respects Yuri’s boundaries, of course he does, but at the same time he wishes he could see, touch, and know every side of Yuri.  
  
The elevator is tiny and they’re standing mere inches away from each other, their backs leaned against opposite walls as the elevator climbs up. Otabek wants to say something - he feels like there should be small-talk if they really are on their way to do what Yuri suggested - but Yuri’s eyes are fixed on his and he can’t force a single word out of his mouth. He’s mesmerized, put under a spell by that sharp gaze, and he knows he’s fucked.  
  
Otabek wants to kiss him so badly it’s driving him insane.  
  
He almost acts on his instinct, his hand reaching for Yuri’s to pull him closer, but then the elevator abruptly stops and the doors slide open with an obnoxious _ding_. The lighting is brighter in the hotel corridor than in the elevator and Otabek squints, annoyed. He steps out, his heart stuttering in his chest when Yuri follows him and slips a hand into his, easily and without shame.  
  
“What was your room number again?” he asks and Otabek doesn’t trust himself to speak clearly, so he squeezes Yuri’s hand and leads him through the corridor.  
  
Otabek manages to fish his key card out of his wallet and open the door without fumbling too much although he swears he’s more nervous than he’s ever been. He drops his wallet onto the small table placed next to the entrance of the room, kicks the door shut behind them, and pushes Yuri against it. He puts his hands on top of Yuri’s shoulders (it’s to ground himself more than anything) and meets his eyes, the look in them slightly confused but still intense; still wild and excited.  
  
Yuri lifts one eyebrow up in a question, the hint of a smirk forming on his face making fun of Otabek, and Otabek feels weak in front of it.  
  
“You know,” he starts, clearing his throat after his voice comes out a little shaky. “I can’t stop thinking about how I want to kiss you.”  
  
Yuri looks genuinely surprised for a second, like that had been the last thing he expected Otabek to say, but he’s quick to hide it. Something in him changes, however: shyness swims into his eyes, and he looks a tiny bit insecure when his gaze drops to Otabek’s lips and then back up.  
  
“Do it, then.”  
  
Otabek swears he’s not even able to think straight anymore, and that must be the effect Yuri has on him. He accepts the fact way too calmly, raising his hand to swipe Yuri’s overgrown bangs out of his face before cupping his cheek and leaning in. He hears Yuri’s small, surprised gasp between them and it makes him stop, less than an inch away. Otabek waits for him to do something - push him away or tell him he was just joking - but nothing happens. For once Yuri is patient, too, and Otabek feels sparks underneath his fingertips when he presses his lips on Yuri’s.  
  
It’s a soft, barely-there touch. For some reason it makes Otabek feel like he had just won the Olympics: he can hear his heartbeat in his ears, thundering through his bloodstream and turning into a relief he can’t really explain. Yuri kisses him back, carefully at first and then with more enthusiasm, his hands finding the collar of Otabek’s suit jacket, pulling him closer. He lets Otabek slide their tongues together, the small sigh he lets out at the contact making Otabek’s head spin.  
  
It’s more than what Otabek had ever even dreamt of, and it’s perfect.  
  
Yuri takes half a step forward, pressing himself more into Otabek’s personal space, and removes his own suit jacket without breaking the kiss. He throws the jacket on the floor and lets his hands wander down Otabek’s sides, fingertips following the seams of his suit, and then stopping over the button of his pants. He doesn’t go further, simply rests his hands there on the waistband of Otabek’s pants, eyes looking for Otabek’s gaze when they part. They’re both breathing heavily and the look on Yuri’s face is curious; waiting and expectant.  
  
Otabek knows he probably should say no to Yuri’s wordless question. “If you want,” he says instead.  
  
Yuri rolls his eyes, amused. “I wouldn’t have offered earlier if I didn’t want to do it.”  
  
“Yeah, okay,” Otabek says with a slow nod, heat gathering in the bottom of his stomach. “Okay.”  
  
Yuri drops onto his knees, fingers quickly working the button of Otabek’s pants open. He wets his lips with his tongue as he pulls the zipper down, and that sight alone is enough to make Otabek’s cock twitch in interest. He exhales harshly through his nose and closes his eyes for a moment, trying to gather himself together and failing miserably. All he sees behind his eyelids is Yuri skating under purple lights, offering his hand to Otabek and grinning when his glove ends up between Otabek’s teeth.  
  
He blinks his eyes open and watches Yuri trace the shape of his dick through his underwear, eyes following the movements of his fingertips. Otabek had held his breath without noticing, finally sighing when Yuri pulls the waistband down and exposes the head of his cock. It’s dark in the room - he didn’t turn any lights on when they came in - but Otabek is actually grateful for it because he can see the shine in Yuri’s eyes better while his own more embarrassing expressions stay hidden.  
  
Yuri swirls his tongue around the tip and sucks it while slowly pulling the rest of Otabek’s dick out of his underwear. He lets spit drip down the length, spreading it all over with his hand as he strokes Otabek into full hardness. He keeps one hand wrapped around the base of the cock when he relaxes his jaw, closing his eyes as he concentrates on the task. The slide of Otabek’s dick on Yuri’s tongue feels incredible, the way he teases Otabek by pulling back and then taking a little bit more of him into his mouth with every bop of his head making a chill of pleasure run down Otabek’s spine.   
  
It’s wet and hot, and Yuri’s mouth feels like velvet around Otabek. He’s not sure if Yuri has done this before, but it doesn’t really matter: he looks like he’s enjoying himself, paying attention to the sensitive cockhead and humming happily at the noises Otabek makes. He hollows his cheeks and then sloppily licks his way up and down, actually moaning when Otabek’s hand finds its way into his hair.  
  
Otabek can only look in amazement as Yuri attempts to take all of him, his gag reflex forcing him to pull back. He’s determined, his eyes squeezed shut when he tries again, managing a little more before he pulls completely off, breathing heavily. He strokes Otabek loosely, almost lazily, as he takes a moment to even out his breathing.  
  
“You’re fucking huge,” Yuri says, clearly annoyed. It makes the cock in his hand twitch, a blush climbing high on Otabek’s face. Yuri looks up at him through his eyelashes and smirks, seemingly pleased with the reaction. Otabek thinks he might combust then and there, knowing the pleasure that’s been growing inside him for what feels like days is ready to flood over any second now. No one has had this kind of effect on him except Yuri, and he’s certain Yuri could probably make him come just by talking or smiling (or worse, _both_ ) if he wanted to.  
  
“Yuri-”, Otabek starts, unable to finish his sentence when Yuri goes down on him again, slowly but surely, tiny tears gathering in the corners of his closed eyes when he almost reaches the base of Otabek’s dick. The feeling is indescribable, the warmth of Yuri’s mouth around his whole length leaving him gasping. Otabek really fights against the need to roll his hips but he can’t stop a small jerk, hushing out an apology when Yuri pulls back after almost choking. A thick string of saliva and precum connects the tip of his dick to Yuri’s lips, and Yuri collects all of it on his tongue, the sight absolutely dirty and extremely arousing at the same time.  
  
“I want you,” he says, voice rough, and the implication in his words is crystal clear to Otabek. He wants Yuri, too, and he wants all of him: he wants to hear him and touch him, and feel him under his fingertips; he wants to look deep into his eyes and listen to him talk about his dreams and fears, and he wants to wrap his arms around him and hold him through the night.  
  
He’s an idiot for wanting that much, and he knows it.  
  
“I’m not sure if that’s-”  
  
“Not you too,” Yuri says, frustration in his tone. “I’ve gotten enough lectures already, thank you very much.”  
  
“You have?” Otabek asks, blinking in confusion. Yuri gets on his feet and leans his back against the door, crossing his arms over his chest as he scoffs.  
  
“First Yakov and Lilia went batshit crazy over my exhibition, which, okay, was fair because they’re my coaches and I didn’t tell them what I was gonna perform. But then Viktor and Katsuki fucking sat me down and told me how inappropriate my program was for someone my age and how I should never pull stunts like that ever again, and then they gave me a fucking sex education class, and those ten minutes were the most horrible ones in my entire life. And have you seen Twitter? People who don’t know me think they can tell me what to do and that pisses me off.” Otabek can tell Yuri is more than frustrated with the situation, and he understands. Yuri worked hard for that exhibition program, putting it together in less than 12 hours yet executing everything perfectly, and apparently he mostly got scolded over it.   
  
“I liked it,” Otabek says with a shrug and Yuri rolls his eyes at him, unable to keep himself from smiling.  
  
Otabek isn’t going to tell him he basically popped a boner during their practice, and he’s thankful he didn’t really get time to think about what was happening when he got dragged on the ice for real earlier that day. Thinking about it all now, on the other hand, makes his dick throb, the back of his neck growing hot.  
  
“I’m glad,” Yuri whispers, stepping closer and closing the small distance between them. He runs his fingertips on the underside of Otabek’s cock and circles the head, enjoying the way Otabek hisses and grabs him by the back of his shirt.  
  
“Yuri,” he tries, painfully aware he sounds more desperate than stern.  
  
“I want you, Beka,” Yuri repeats himself, lips brushing over Otabek’s jaw. Otabek places his hand under Yuri’s chin and guides him into a proper kiss, greedily licking into his mouth because _God_ , he wants to give Yuri everything he asks and more. His hand on Yuri’s back slips lower and traces the curve of his ass before traveling up, stopping at the topmost button of Yuri’s shirt.  
  
“I want you, too,” he confesses against Yuri’s lips, his heart beating faster than after an exhausting training session. “But I want to do this right.”  
  
“You aren’t doing anything wrong.”  
  
“I don’t want things to get weird between us.”  
  
“It'll only get weird if you make it weird.”  
  
A valid point. Yuri kisses his neck and Otabek feels the press of his clothed erection against his own thigh, and the way his heart skips at the sensation wipes every thought that isn’t Yuri out of his head.  
  
Otabek keeps his hands on Yuri’s shirt, fingers unbuttoning it as he starts walking backwards further into the room. Yuri follows his lead easily, laughter bubbling in the dark room when they stumble on Otabek’s open suitcase left on the floor. Otabek kicks it further away when they’ve stepped over it and shrugs off his suit jacket, it landing neatly next to the suitcase. The back of his knees hits the bed and he sits down on it, pulling Yuri with him. The blond climbs astride onto his lap, fingers finding their way into dark hair as he kisses Otabek long and needy, rocking his hips for friction they’re both gravely in need of.  
  
Pleasure and anticipation spark inside Otabek almost painfully, Yuri’s labored breathing on his neck sending hot shivers down his back. His hands come down to rest on top of Yuri’s thighs, pathetically clutching them as a way to keep his self-control slipping from him when Yuri grinds against him again, a pleading whine of Otabek’s name escaping his lips.  
  
“Get on the bed for me,” Otabek whispers, his voice already strained. His mouth is dry as he stands up, his palms sweaty and his head filled with white noise. He goes to his backpack left on a chair in the corner of the room and searches through it, a small bottle of lube and a pack of condoms in his hand when he walks back to the bed. Yuri has situated himself in the middle of it, leaning on his elbows, his white dress shirt still on but unbuttoned. He watches Otabek intently, pupils blown wide, and under that gaze Otabek feels more exposed than he really is.  
  
“Was this part of your plan all along?” Yuri asks, eyes briefly taking a glance at the items in Otabek’s hand. Otabek can hear he tries to sound nonchalant, like he was telling a joke, but a hint of jealousy slips into his tone - he knows there’s no way in hell this could have been part of Otabek’s plan of getting to know him, and he must think Otabek’s intention was probably to sleep around while in Barcelona.  
  
“I wish,” Otabek says, hating the sudden insecurity in Yuri. He climbs on the bed and loosens his tie, throwing it on the floor. “I just want to be prepared in case something happens.”  
  
There have been incidents where Otabek has had someone in his hotel room after competitions. It doesn’t happen often and it’s not like he goes out to seek those kinds of experiences: sometimes it happens naturally after he meets up with friends and their friends from DJ and music scenes. He never imagined he’d have a fellow skater in his bed, least of all Yuri.  
  
But there he is, intensely green eyes looking up at him, nervousness dancing around his irises. His hair has gotten messier and there are smudges of dark makeup around his eyes, and he still looks like an angel to Otabek. He’s bold, and strong, and _beautiful_ , and Otabek’s heart aches for him.  
  
There’s longing in their kiss, but Otabek pretends there isn’t. His hand travels down on Yuri’s bare chest, thumb brushing over his ribs and fingertips following the small shivers running underneath them. Yuri works open the topmost buttons of Otabek’s shirt that are within his reach, hands faltering when Otabek kisses his neck and licks over his pulse, quick to continue what Yuri started: Otabek shrugs his shirt off and helps Yuri out of his own as well, unable to fight a small smile when Yuri pulls him into another kiss, greedy and frantic.  
  
“Have you ever been with someone?” Otabek asks. He sits back and runs a hand through his hair, swallowing with difficulty when Yuri’s fingertips follow the lines of the muscles on his chest and shoulders, sliding down his arms and loosely curving around his wrists.  
  
“No,” he confesses after a moment of silence, only a little hesitant.   
  
“Are you sure you want-”  
  
“Yes,” Yuri interrupts him, voice steady. There’s a small pout on his face that Otabek can’t quite read, but the gaze he gives to Otabek is as determined as ever. His hold around Otabek’s left wrist tightens, working as a wordless plea he can’t get out of his mouth.  
  
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Otabek says. He takes in the blush on Yuri’s face, the way his chest heaves, and how smooth his skin feels under his touch. It’s maddening and exhilarating, and he’s so turned on it’s almost painful. The fact that Yuri is in the same state only makes his head buzz louder.  
  
“You won’t,” Yuri says, rolling his eyes when a subtle frown appears on Otabek’s forehead. “I’ll say if something hurts, okay?”  
  
“Will you really?” Otabek happens to know Yuri doesn’t complain about pain: years and years of training have taught him to endure it. Otabek supposes that kind of mentality is alright when it comes to skating, but when it comes to _this_ he wants to know immediately if he’s hurting Yuri in one way or another.  
  
“I will. Promise.” He offers his pinky finger to Otabek, giggling in amusement when Otabek actually wraps his own pinkie around it. Otabek smirks at the sound, it growing bigger when he shifts and kisses his way down Yuri’s neck, Yuri gasping audibly. Otabek swirls his tongue around one of Yuri’s nipples, licking and sucking all over his chest until he’s moaning under him, helplessly bucking his hips up.  
  
Otabek reaches the button of Yuri’s slacks and the blond is more than happy to get out of them, biting his lip when Otabek removes the rest of his clothes with them, leaving him completely naked in front of him. Otabek sees the slight insecurity in the way Yuri’s shoulders tense and he wants to chase it away because Yuri is nothing but gorgeous. He’s small and lithe under Otabek’s hands, his dick hard against his stomach, already leaking at the tip. Otabek strokes him slowly, admiring how easily his hand wraps around the length, and Yuri throws his head back and moans.  
  
Arousal hits Otabek like a tidal wave, engulfing and overwhelming. His dick twitches, beads of precum gathering at the head, and he strips out of his already unzipped pants while cursing under his breath. He’s back on top of Yuri in record time, taking the bottle of lube he discarded on the bed earlier and placing a soft kiss on the corner of Yuri’s mouth. He can tell Yuri is growing nervous and impatient at the same time, and Otabek can’t help feeling the same.  
  
“Okay?” he asks as he settles between Yuri’s legs, pouring lube on his hand. Yuri’s eyes are wandering up and down his body like he couldn’t believe what he’s seeing, but eventually he finds Otabek’s gaze and nods shortly.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Yuri tensing up when Otabek circles his hole with a finger doesn’t come as a surprise to him, and he keeps teasing him without going any further as he climbs back on top of him and kisses him, his other hand coming to rest on Yuri’s cheek. “Relax.”  
  
“Easier to say than do,” Yuri hisses, turning his face as if he was trying to hide from Otabek. Otabek chuckles and kisses the corner of his mouth; his jawline, the sensitive spot right underneath his ear, his neck.  
  
“I know,” Otabek whispers, physically feeling how Yuri is slowly leaning into his touches, loosening up. Carefully he pushes his finger inside him, Yuri’s breathy gasp like music to his ears. “You’re doing so well.”  
  
Yuri lets out a high-pitched whine at Otabek’s sudden praise, squeezing his eyes shut and spreading his legs wider as an attempt to have more of Otabek as close as possible. Otabek moves his finger in and out of him in an unhurried but steady pace, loving how Yuri’s body responds to his touch: his hand grasping the sheets, his cock leaking onto his stomach when Otabek pulls out and goes back in with two fingers, a filthy moan filling the air when he twists his wrist and pushes in deeper.  
  
“How do you feel?” Otabek asks when he can work his fingers easily in and out of Yuri, one of Yuri’s legs resting near Otabek’s shoulder for a better angle (it’s no news to Otabek that he’s inhumanely flexible, but he never thought it would work in his favor like this). It takes a moment for Yuri to gather his thoughts, fingers playing with the shorter hair in the nape of Otabek’s neck.  
  
“Strange. Kind of weird, but good,” he says and greedily rolls his hips. “Gimme more.”  
  
Otabek is happy to do as he’s told, pulling his fingers out and taking a condom, quickly ripping the package open and rolling it on. He’s ridiculously turned on to the point where a simple touch of his own hand over his cock almost makes him come, and he knows Yuri isn’t that far either. His eyes are half-lidded and he’s panting heavily, sweat making his hair stick to his forehead.  
  
Otabek runs his fingers through his own hair, getting it out of his face, and takes a strong hold of Yuri’s thigh to keep him from moving around too much. He searches for Yuri’s eyes, bright green looking back at him when he teases Yuri’s rim with the tip of his cock before slowly pushing past it.  
  
It’s hot and tight, and absolutely incredible. Otabek hears himself moaning, a violent chill of satisfaction running down his spine when Yuri joins him, the pleasure-pain of the first thrust sweeping over him. Otabek pulls out for an inch before pushing back in, going in deeper with every roll of his hips. Yuri treats him with gasps and whimpers, his toes curling and knuckles turning white around the sheets he’s gathered into his fists.  
  
“Fuck, Yuri,” Otabek breaths out, bending down to kiss the boy under him, his thrusts gaining more speed. Yuri sucks at his tongue, trying hard to meet Otabek’s hips halfway but falling out of rhythm every now and then, clenching around him as his pleasure builds up. He wraps his arms around Otabek’s neck and pulls him even closer, kissing his jawline and hiding his face into his shoulder.  
  
“Beka, I’m- oh god, I’m- fuck,” he rambles, his body high-strung and shivering. His voice is feverish, fingernails scraping at Otabek’s skin as his back arches up, chasing for his release. All Otabek can hear is Yuri moaning out his name, the sound lighting his every cell on fire. He pushes in harder and deeper, the feeling of Yuri all around him intoxicating in the best way possible. He leans in closer, as close as Yuri wants him, and kisses his temple, sneaking a hand between their bodies and wrapping his fingers around Yuri’s dick.  
  
“I’ve got you.”  
  
Otabek strokes him once, twice, and the half-shout, half-sob escaping Yuri’s mouth as he comes is definitely something Otabek will hear in his nighttime fantasies from now on. Yuri spills into his hand and over his own stomach, head thrown back against the pillows. He still clings to Otabek as if his life depended on it, moaning even louder when Otabek’s hips stutter when his pleasure finally reaches its peak, Yuri’s name tumbling out of his mouth.  
  
For the longest moment they say nothing, their heavy breathings slowly calming down. Yuri still has his arms around Otabek, keeping him from moving away, his fingers absent-mindedly running through dark hair. It’s comforting and Otabek feels warm, his mind drowsy and muscles aching in a way that’s not exactly painful. In the back of his mind there’s the need to kiss Yuri again, but he’s not sure if that would be allowed anymore.  
  
“I wanna take a shower,” Yuri says when Otabek has almost fallen asleep. His voice is rough and Otabek forces himself up, trying his best to hide how he shivers when he pulls out. Yuri avoids his gaze as he gets on his feet and disappears into the bathroom, the sound of the shower running somehow louder than it really should be.  
  
Otabek discards the used condom, sits on the edge of the bed, and rubs his hands over his face. Yuri didn’t even want to look at him, so he must think he just made the biggest mistake of his life. That means Otabek fucked up, simple and clean, and somehow managed to befriend and unfriend Yuri over one weekend.  
  
Otabek moves languidly around the room, putting his underwear back on and checking the bedding for any mess. Somehow it’s all clean, so he straightens out the creases and rearranges the pillows. He’s in the middle of folding Yuri’s clothes in a neat pile on the table (his own clothes are already folded and packed into his suitcase) when the shower gets turned off, silence ringing in Otabek’s ears. He tells himself not to watch, yet he still watches when Yuri steps into the room and closes the bathroom door behind himself, his hair damp and dark makeup washed away, a white towel wrapped around his body.  
  
He looks a little lost, and Otabek’s heart yearns for him.  
  
“Your clothes are here if… if you want to put something on,” Otabek says, patting the pile on the table. His voice comes out hoarse and he clears his throat.  
  
“Oh,” Yuri says silently. “Thank you.”  
  
“Don’t mention it.” Otabek turns his back to give Yuri some privacy he might want. He picks up his phone and gets in the bed, leaning on the headboard as he checks his social media. In reality he sees nothing but a white blur, his mind only focused on Yuri.  
  
Yuri, Yuri, _Yuri_.  
  
“I…,” Yuri starts, Otabek’s attention shifting immediately. He looks up and sees Yuri standing by the table in his underwear, the towel thrown over the back of a chair. He’s crossed his arms over his chest, the expression on his face only a tiny bit annoyed. “I’ve never done this before so I don’t know how this is supposed to go.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“ _This_ ,” he says, gesturing around with his hands. He sounds frustrated, the blush painting over the pout on his face nothing but adorable, and Otabek huffs out a laugh.  
  
“It’s up to you. You can stay, or you can leave.” Otabek doesn’t want to say he’s fine with both, because that would be lying. His heart is beating fast, nervous but carefully hopeful, and he puts his phone away.  
  
“And if I want to stay?”  
  
Otabek’s heart performs cartwheels in his chest and a smile makes its way on his lips when he lifts the covers and wordlessly invites Yuri into the bed. Yuri is smiling, too, when he settles next to Otabek and pulls the comforter over himself, curling against Otabek, his hair smelling like Otabek’s shampoo.  
  
Otabek knows he’s a goddamn idiot for leaning in and kissing Yuri, but for once he doesn’t care.

**Author's Note:**

> I know their conversation just before the performance didn't go exactly like that in the WTTM manga, but let's pretend it did :')
> 
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